Something Beautiful
by HeavyMetalRunner
Summary: For some reason, Knock Out writes an essay about life after the War. KOxSS


Do you want to know what happens in the aftermath of war?

It's probably common to imagine it's the same story for all wars; the losers slink home and the victors march home to parades and ceremonies. There is propaganda, there are apologies, there are politics. Soon everyone moves on as if it had all been a dream—a nightmare actually—even the wounded and the traumatized have to move when the sympathy wanes.

But this was not so with our war. In our war, we had destroyed our planet. Our living creator was as good as dead and we abandoned our home.

In the aftermath of the Great War for Cybertron, was the Fall of Cybertron. In the aftermath of the war for Earth, there was the Revival of Cybertron. And we came back to a world that was shiny and new again—but that wasn't necessarily a good thing. Shiny and new is better than dark and broken, but all of our buildings and homes were gone—forever.

Many lives were gone forever. Many friends would never return. In the aftermath of our war, there was no triumph, no parades, and no apologies. There was only grief and work to be done. The Deceptions who would not accept peace were locked away, the others were granted freedom.

It was unsensible, but things had stopped making sense a long time ago; besides, the time for division and strife was past. We needed our long overdue ending. We were done with politics for the moment.

In the years following the end of the great war we rebuilt our world together. Some things—the Great Hall of Records in Iacon, the phantasmagorical towering beauty of Vos—could not be copied and revived.

We grieved for the magnificence lost, and vowed that if we could not replicate it, we would exceed it. And so we did. The shuttles, seekers, and jets who returned rebuilt their city in crystal of all colors; they built upwards until the elegant curves of their towers disappeared into the distant sky.

The Hall of Records was rebuilt, held up by two gigantic commemorating monuments—Alpha Trion and Optimus Prime. In the hand of the Last Prime is a light that always shines, the symbol of the Matrix of Leadership so we will always remember how it served us through Optimus Prime. The Hall itself is a vast building, and as open as a courtyard to symbolize that the knowledge within belonged to all of us equally.

Kaon was rebuilt to resemble it's glory days as a working district, not rich and fancy but nonetheless, a place home to those who enjoyed hard work and a simple existence.

Even the Gladiatorial arenas were rebuilt, although the arguments about their place in a wold of peace continue on to this day. One thing we agree on is one's freedom to become a gladiator if they so choose, and only if they have a choice.

As for me? Well, I acquired a bit of infamy in my years as a Decepticon, and sometimes I am met with fear and prejudice. But I am a mad Doctor, what should I expect?

Although, I'm not so much a mad doctor these days. I like my new job much better. Nowadays I do modifications and repaints. It feels good to be able to spend time modifying for purposes other than warfare. People come to me wanting to be faster, to have their plating carved into designs, or even just to get tattoos. It's so fulfilling to exercise my artistic sensibilities I hardly ever miss taking things apart.

Most importantly, I get to share my home with someone I adore and love with all of my spark. We live in a frighteningly high tower in Vos—of course he isn't frightened of heights at all—but the view from our balcony could move even old Shockwave to tears.

Before the war Vos had no roads for non-aerials to travel on, it was exclusive and fool of prejudice. Now, they have roads in case cars, trucks, and tanks want to live or visit.

He works in scouting other planets and our own for energon—his old job from before the war. He has slowly climbed the ladder at work, and is now a captain of the lead team of seekers. He gets embarrassed when I call him Captain Starscream, and says he's going to have to sabotage himself in order to prevent being promoted to Commander.

We sit outside a lot on the ledge of our balcony; it is terrifying to me, but he assures me he'd never let me fall.

We just like to look out at the world we came so close to destroying. Sometimes one of us just loses it, but the other always understands. We don't hide our tears or anger from each other—it's why we stayed friends, because we don't expect a brave face from each other. We wouldn't believe it anyway, we know we're such wimps!

Just like me, he has gone back to his original Cybertronian form. His wings are much more artistically sculpted, unlike those plain rectangular Earth wings. Instead of the drab military colors all Earth jets are done in, his plating is its original pearlescent pink, with some green and blue here and there.

All Vosnians are done in beautiful light pearlescent, or pastel colors—they are creatures of beauty and dance after all; this is reason why I don't mind living here.

He changed his optics to a deep rose color, cutting the harsh ruby red of his decepticon eyes.

To me, it represents how we've become a world of art and beauty, instead of a world of war and destruction—with this comes some regret for the part I played in the war, but mostly it fills me with pride...and above all, love.

Every time he looks at me I feel my spark grow until it's like it's all I am. Even my beauty and perfect finish dim in the brightness of that feeling.

He leans forward toward me, bringing his face so close. He is clearly tired from work, but his smile and eyes are soft. "What are you looking at?" He asks.

"Something beautiful."


End file.
